Close Enough To See
by whiteflowers
Summary: After the death of Dumbledore, three people find themselves observing a certain Transfiguration Professor. Sometimes, we find that we do not know a person as well as we thought we did. ADMM
1. Rolanda

**Close Enough to See**

**Disclaimer:** Unfortunately, the Harry Potter series and all its characters/concepts are owned by the lovely Ms. Rowling, and not me. Sigh…

**Summary: **After the death of Dumbledore, three people find themselves observing a certain Transfiguration Professor. Sometimes, we find that we do not know a person as well as we thought we did.

* * *

Rolanda Hooch hurried down the stone steps of Hogwarts' entrance and across the grassy grounds to tack onto the end of a large throng of people moving toward the lake. In moments she found herself flanked by many rows of seats that stretched back from a marble table; the mark that was to be the final resting place of Albus Dumbledore.

Slightly out of breath, Rolanda stood on tip-toes and gazed over a group of students in front of her while silently chiding herself for almost being late for such an occasion. She strained her eyes toward the front of the seating arrangement, where Rolanda had been told a small segment had been reserved for the Hogwarts staff. Sure as it was, she spotted the backs of her fellow colleagues – Filius' shock of white hair, Pomona's surprisingly immaculate-looking hat, and Poppy's wispy grey bun were the first to spring into sight.

Rolanda groaned – there appeared to be no unclaimed seats anywhere near the front of the service, and even those toward the back were filling up quickly. It appeared that several attendees had even given up on squeezing through the rows of chairs to find a seat and taken to standing along the sides of the assembly of chairs instead. Spying suddenly a spare seat a couple of rows behind her between a burly-looking man with a long, braided beard and an elderly and slightly rounded woman, Rolanda swiftly ducked into the row and set herself down.

All around her people spoke quietly so that the collective mill of voices seemed to surround Rolanda like waves crashing in from every direction. She listened as fragments of reminiscences, condolences and even speculations wound in and out of the ocean of mourners around her.

Lifting her head to look toward the front of the gathering once more, Rolanda's hawk-like eyes roved the crowd intently. They soon came to rest on her quarry: a certain Transfiguration Professor seated in the very front row beside Rufus Scrimgeour. Rolanda squinted her eyes, forcing the form of Minerva McGonagall into higher definition. She was chatting with the Minister of Magic beside her; her features appeared to display no ounce of emotion in the slightest.

Rolanda scanned the rest of the crowd. Most people were overtly upset – whether simply sniffing or already dabbing handkerchiefs at the corners of their eyes. Two students in front of Rolanda were already sobbing. Whatever the case – the amount of sorrow being generated by the crowd was enough to catch on and make anyone cry. Rolanda herself could feel tears stinging her eyes just at the sound of those two students weeping loudly before her.

Which made her all the more worried about her friend seated at the front of the assembly. How could Minerva – Deputy and indeed dear friend to Dumbledore – seem so unaffected in a time when most were overcome with grief? Since the night of the Headmaster's death, Rolanda had not seen her friend shed a single tear. Minerva had remained her composed and busy self, leading Rolanda to the belief that the Professor was simply taking in the whole ordeal far too well.

There had been one odd moment when Rolanda had entered the staff room to find Minerva standing alone by the window. Her eyes were glassed over, her thoughts and vision locked somewhere in the distance. And yet as soon as Rolanda had voiced her concern, the acting Headmistress quickly assumed her strict and impassive poise once again. "I'm fine," she had said, and hurried out the door muttering something or other about the Ministry.

Rolanda's thoughts were interrupted quite abruptly by the bearded man beside her who was suddenly blowing his nose very violently into a large handkerchief. He went on to dab the soggy material at his leaking eyes, and smiled apologetically at Rolanda.

"Sorry about that," he croaked.

Rolanda waved the apology away. She supposed everyone had their way of dealing with grief. A grown man might choose to bawl his eyes out, while another woman might choose to continue life as if nothing had happened. Rolanda sighed. Perhaps this _was_ the best way for Minerva to deal with the death of a colleague.

"It's a right dear shame," came a voice from the other side of Rolanda. The portly woman beside her looked across knowingly. "That Dumbledore was a very good man."

_And the award for stating the obvious goes to…_

Rolanda had to bite her tongue from voicing the remark that floated through her head. She had promised to herself that she would hold back on the snark at least today.

"Yes, he was," Rolanda replied tamely. She then proceeded to feign interest in a piece of loose thread hanging from the sleeve of her robe so as to discourage any more conversation from the woman.

"You know," continued the woman, and Rolanda did her best to suppress a sigh of exasperation, "At my age, you find yourself attending quite a few funerals."

The woman had paused, and looked toward Rolanda as if awaiting some response before going on. Rolanda forced a polite smile.

The woman seemed satisfied, and grinned so that two large dimples impressed themselves on each of her cheeks.

"But I must say, this certainly has to be the largest I've ever seen. Quite pretty, too. If you ask me outdoor funerals are always the nicest. And such a lovely Summer's day!"

"Ah… yes," Rolanda offered. She prayed for the service to just begin already.

"It's really quite amazing to see so many people touched by Dumbledore's death, isn't it?"

Rolanda looked at the woman, and then out across the group of people around her. All here – united – in their respect, admiration and love for Dumbledore. The old lady's comment suddenly made Rolanda immensely proud to have known and worked for such a man. She dabbed her sleeve at the corners of her eyes.

"Yes, it is," she agreed, and this time offered a genuine smile.

"A lot of people are taking it quite hard, aren't they?" The woman continued. "It's an odd kind of situation, though. Normally at a funeral one offers their condolences to the family. But with Dumbledore…"

Rolanda considered the woman's point. She knew next to nothing about Dumbledore's family. He apparently had a brother somewhere, but other than that…

"…Not even a spouse. Strange that he never married, isn't it? Probably for the best, though. I don't know how many women could deal with their partner being murdered in such awful circumstances, do you? Then again, in my experience it's always the spouse that seems to best deal with the death. Well, on the outside anyway. Perhaps they feel they have to be strong for everyone else. Who knows?"

It appeared as though the woman was going to continue talking, but a strange sort of music began flowing over the crowd from the lake: the merpeople were singing. The assembly of people hushed as the service finally began.

Rolanda sat back in her seat, and almost didn't notice when the great form of Hagrid began walking down the aisle carrying Dumbledore's body wrapped in purple velvet. Her mind was too busy processing the last words that the rounded woman beside her had spoken.

_It's always the spouse that seems to best deal with the death…_

Rolanda lifted her gaze to look at Minerva once again, far in the front row. A cold wave seemed to wash over Rolanda as she began to wonder whether she even really knew her friend at all.

* * *

Hopa! Thanks for reading, kiddliwinks. This will eventually be a three-part series, each taking the view of a different character – but each dealing with McGonagall. Because she is love. :D

Reviews are lovely. :P

Thanks,

whiteflowers


	2. Harry

**Close Enough to See**

**Disclaimer:** Nope, not mine.

**A/N: **Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to read & review the first chapter – it really meant a lot and has given me greater faith in this story! And now, for part two to this three-part series…

* * *

Harry stood silently as the stone staircase spiralled up toward Dumbledore's office. When it came to a sudden stop, he waited for a moment before stepping off. He hated the idea that he would never walk into this room again and see Dumbledore sitting at his desk, blue eyes twinkling and long fingers pressed together at the tips. Harry felt a horrible wave of sadness, but his eyes seemed to have been parched of tears during the funeral that morning.

In any case, he wasn't here to reminisce about Dumbledore. Harry had said his final goodbye earlier that day, and though he still felt heavy with grief he was here for only one reason: if he wasn't coming back to Hogwarts next year, he should at least tell someone who was.

Harry knocked on the door.

"Come in," a voice on the other side of the door replied – unmistakably Professor McGonagall's.

Harry pushed open the door into the circular office in which he had found himself in so many times over his Hogwarts life. Professor McGonagall was standing behind Dumbledore's old desk, busying herself taking things out of a drawer. She looked up briefly to see who her guest was, before directing her attention back to the task at hand.

"Evening, Potter. What can I do for you?" She addressed in a tired voice.

"Professor," he began, somewhat annoyed that Professor McGonagall wasn't even looking at him, "I –"

But that was as far as he got.

The sparsity of the room suddenly impressed itself upon Harry. Looking around, he saw none of the silver instruments whirring and emitting puffs of smoke that he had seen before, nor the vast amount of old and tattered books that used to fill shelves to the ceiling. There were several boxes on the floor undoubtedly packed with Dumbledore's old belongings. Another box sat atop the enormous desk at which McGonagall stood, in which she was emptying the contents of the drawers into.

"What is it, Potter?" Professor McGonagall asked again, the familiar terseness returning in her voice. She stopped what she was doing and looked up at him with a furrowed brow.

"Professor, what are you doing?"

Professor McGonagall seemed incredulous that Harry had asked her such a question.

"I am cleaning out Professor Dumbledore's old office, Potter. Now, on what business did you come to see me?" She spoke curtly, her tone advising Harry not to press the matter further.

But something in McGonagall's words made Harry's blood begin to boil. It was a year ago that Harry had erupted in rage in this very office, screaming and thrashing about destroying Dumbledore's things. Now there weren't even any of his belongings here to break. Just McGonagall here, indifferently creating a hollow emptiness out of a place that was once so warm and busy and safe.

"Dumbledore's funeral was only _this morning_! How can you pack away all of his things as if he never existed!" Harry shouted – surprising even himself with the amount of anger that seared in his voice.

Professor McGonagall stopped short at Harry's outburst, as if all expression had been wiped from her face. She looked down at the desk before her, and then glanced over the top of her glasses at Harry.

"I think that is enough, Potter." she said quietly. "Perhaps you should leave and come back when your temper has calmed."

"No."

Harry watched as his Transfiguration Professor lifted her head to look directly at him. It seemed as though a war of emotion was playing across her face – a battle between anger, indignation and utter disbelief.

"_Excuse me?_"

"You _cannot_ just pack Dumbledore away in a box like this!" Harry cried. "Dumbledore was the greatest man this school has ever seen – and you're honouring that by clearing away everything he owns? _Erasing him?_"

Harry stopped, expecting Professor McGonagall to retaliate, but oddly she didn't move to speak.

Harry let out an angry sigh, and found himself continuing in his outburst – "What is it, Professor? You just couldn't wait to move into your brand new office? I thought he was your _friend_. Have you forgotten everything he's done for this school? Everything he's done for the wizarding world?"

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth as if to say something, but again she fell silent.

"Do you even _care_?" Harry shouted, his volume rising to new levels as his anger too heightened. He just couldn't stand the thought of Dumbledore – a man who had done so much for Harry – being treated like this. Being pushed aside like this. He felt his nostrils flare and a fierce look harden on his face waiting for McGonagall to answer his question.

She stood wordless for several moments, eyes fixed on Harry and looking as though she were concentrating very hard on something. She still appeared expressionless, except for her mouth which twitched every few seconds.

"Uh-" She finally spoke – in a voice far more frail than Harry was expecting – but that was as far as she got. Professor McGonagall brought a shaking hand to her mouth and before Harry could even respond she had crumpled behind the desk out if sight.

Harry stood motionless, shocked at the sudden turn of events. A swift feeling of guilt washed over him, and he felt his heart speed up in panic. With nothing else to do, he hurried around Dumbledore's old desk to find Professor McGonagall sitting back against the desk, knees pulled in toward her chest. Harry fell to his knees beside her.

"Professor, I- I'm sorry," he offered feebly. Professor McGonagall had her eyes closed, a stream of tears silently squeezing out of the corners and a pained look upon her face. She still had a hand covering her mouth, which Harry guessed was in attempt to hold back from sobbing. He had no idea she had been anywhere this close to breaking down. He couldn't even recall her crying at the funeral.

"Please, Professor. I had no right to – I just –"

Professor McGonagall let out a stifled sob, and with an arm resting on her knees she buried her head in the crook of her elbow. Harry watched helplessly as she sobbed into the arm of her robes.

"I really am sorry," Harry uttered quietly. He didn't know what else to do, so he put a hand on her shoulder. It was a few minutes before the sobbing abated, but still Professor McGonagall rested her head in her arms. Still feeling guilty and uncomfortable, Harry peered up at the desk where a half-filled box rested, and turned back to the Professor.

"Here – Professor, I'll help you. It's okay. Please," he said in his gentlest tone, and Professor McGonagall finally lifted her head up to look at him with teary eyes. Harry kept one hand on her back and used the other to hold her arm and help her stand.

Harry opened the drawer that he had seen Professor McGonagall cleaning out when he had entered the room, and looked up to smile at her. "I'll help you, Professor."

Without waiting for a reply, Harry began shifting the items from the drawer into the box. He lifted a glass box of tiny golden dice out, as well as a bag of uneaten Sherbet Lemons. He placed them carefully in the box, and then glanced at McGonagall again hopefully. She took a moment, as though in consideration. Harry thought he saw a very brief smile flicker across her face, before she wiped her eyes with the sleeves of her robes. She pulled a stack of envelopes out of the drawer and put them into the box.

For the next twenty minutes the pair toiled away cleaning out the desk, dividing the items between Dumbledore's personal belongings, items that needed to be passed onto the next Head of Hogwarts, and just plain junk. Both remained wordless, apart from when Harry was unsure into what category a certain item fell in. It was during the cleaning of the very last drawer, however, that Harry pulled out something that made him stop in his tracks.

It was a photograph – perhaps twenty years old. Harry stared in amazement at the image of Dumbledore smiling more broadly than he had perhaps ever seen him smile before. The magic of wizarding photography showed his blue eyes sparkling brilliantly as he held close a woman, whispering in her ear and twirling her around.

That woman was Professor McGonagall.

Harry looked up at the real-life Professor McGonagall before him, who was also looking down at the photograph in his hand. His heart thudded in his chest – he didn't know whether to be shocked or embarrassed or both. McGonagall seemed mesmerised. It was a moment before she looked back to Harry.

"That will… that will do, Harry," she said – but in a soft voice that Harry hardly recognised. "Thankyou," she finished, and held out her hand for the photograph.

Harry handed her the photograph wordlessly, not sure whether he should say anything. He stayed put for a second, but Professor McGonagall gave him a weak yet understanding smile as if to say it really was alright for him to go.

He turned on his heel and swiftly left the office, not looking back at the Professor. As the stone staircase spiralled downward, Harry felt suddenly very overwhelmed – as though he had been blind in his observations of people for a long time.

* * *

Once again, the end of another chapter.

And I'm terribly sorry, but the next and final chapter won't be up for about a week as I'm going to be away for several days. But I'm sure you can hold on til then. :P

Thanks for reading, and please continue to leave your lovely reviews!

whiteflowers


	3. Poppy

**Close Enough to See**

**Disclaimer:** Nope, not mine.

**A/N: **All I can say is... wow. Reader response to this fic has been absolutely phenomonal, and I really just can't thank everyone enough for taking the time to get involved with this story and letting me know what you think. Hugs for everyone! And now, for the third and final instalment...

* * *

Poppy Pomfrey hissed in pain as she knocked her head on the underside of one of the hospital wing beds. Hot tears stung at her eyes as she backed out from underneath the bed, and she rubbed the throbbing spot near her forehead. _Idiot_, she thought, _a mediwitch and I can't even keep myself from injury…_

Still rubbing her head, she sat on the bed and tossed an unopened packet of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans and an old toothbrush into a box on the floor. The box was filled with an assortment of odds and ends that Poppy had discovered stashed around the hospital wing – under beds, behind bedside tables, under mattresses – the trails of the many students who had spent time as her patients here over the Hogwarts year.

Poppy sighed. This was her end-of-year ritual – cleaning the hospital wing until it looked brand-new, re-stocking medical cupboards, getting all the linen washed – so that everything would be ready when everyone returned for the new school year. This time, however, Poppy couldn't help but feel that her work was in vain. There was a good chance that Hogwarts wouldn't even reopen for another school year. She looked around at all of the empty hospital beds, wondering whether she'd ever mend another broken bone here, or clean up another spell gone terribly wrong.

Deciding that such thought was perhaps just as hopeless as cleaning out a hospital wing never to be used again, Poppy pushed herself off the bed and headed toward her office – she needed to find a mirror to judge whether the damage to her head was bad enough to warrant a healing spell. She had almost reached her office when the doors to the hospital wing suddenly opened.

Turning around, Poppy immediately identified her visitor as the young Harry Potter, who had become quite a regular patient of hers. But what was he doing here now, at this time of night?

"Harry? What is it?" She queried, hurrying over to the boy. As she drew near she saw that he had a very peculiar expression on his face, as though he were somehow in the midst of both confusion and understanding at the same time.

"Are you ill? Injured?" Poppy prompted concernedly.

"No," Harry replied, and he took on a very serious tone, "I don't need your help."

Poppy frowned at Harry. "Harry, if you're not-"

"-I think Professor McGonagall needs your help."

Poppy stopped short, completely taken aback.

"_Minerva_?"

Harry nodded, a strange sort of look still playing on his features. "I needed to speak with her, so I went up to her new office…" He trailed off, and it seemed to Poppy as though he were replaying something in his head.

"Yes?" Poppy encouraged. Harry blinked, and looked her in the eye again.

"She kind of…" Harry spoke uncertainly, as though he weren't sure whether he should be saying what he was about to say, "… uh, broke down. Crying."

If Poppy had been taken aback before, it was nothing compared to how shocked she felt now.

"She… started crying? In front of _you_?" Poppy uttered in an almost-whisper. Minerva had refused to even show a glimmer of emotion over Dumbledore's death in the presence of her closest friends. Not even the funeral had been enough to crush her stolid veneer. And she had burst into tears in front of her sixteen-year-old _student_?

"Well, I kind of… yelled at her, first," Harry said guiltily, and his gaze fell to the floor.

Poppy looked at the boy before her, and instead of feeling worried for her friend she suddenly felt a sense of relief. It had finally happened. Minerva had broken.

"This isn't your fault, Harry," Poppy said, and rested a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You just happened to spark an explosion that's been waiting to happen ever since Dumbledore passed away."

Harry peered up at Poppy, and she watched as he tried to process her words. He eventually gave a half-smile, apparently understanding but still harbouring some sense of guilt. He shifted on his feet, and Poppy realised how uncomfortable it must have been for him to be confronted with the delicate side of a Professor when all most saw was sheer professionalism. She removed her hand from Harry's shoulder, a signal that he was free to go.

"I just thought I should tell someone," finished Harry. "Professor McGonagall seemed pretty upset. I thought… she could use a friend, maybe."

Poppy smiled. "Thank you, Harry."

Harry gave a last nod, and turned to leave the hospital wing. Poppy too, followed him toward the hospital wing doors. She would go see Minerva at once, and fetch Rolanda on the way.

"Wait, Madam Pomfrey?" Harry said, stopping and turning around so suddenly that Poppy almost ran straight into him, "There's something else you should know. Before, I helped Professor McGonagall clean out Dumbledore's desk. I found… a photograph…"

Poppy raised a curious eyebrow as Harry's cheeks went slightly pink.

* * *

Poppy knocked gently on the large door that led to Dumbledore's old office – and for now, Minerva's new one. When there was no reply, Poppy shot a worried look at Rolanda beside her.

"Minerva?" Rolanda enquired, raising her voice slightly so it would carry through.

Again, there was no response from within the room. Poppy bit her lip, and exchanged another glance with her friend. It was true that they had both expected this moment to eventually arrive, and they were indeed glad that Minerva was finally showing her grief, but now that they had to deal with it neither could deny they weren't at least a little bit nervous. If there was one emotion that Minerva McGonagall was known to express more than successfully, it was anger. Poppy couldn't help but unseat a slight fear that she would be transfigured into a horrible creature of some sort if Minerva took offence to their concerned visit.

"Well, we've observed the niceties," said Rolanda quietly, though not lacking a touch of her typical offhandedness. With that, she reached out and opened the door before Poppy could even react.

The wooden door swung open to reveal the large, circular and rather empty office. For a moment Poppy thought that Minerva was in fact not there, but Rolanda quickly pointed to the distinct hem of emerald-green robes sticking out from behind the large desk on the opposite side of the office. Silently Poppy approached the desk, Rolanda at her side.

"Minerva?"

Poppy knelt down beside Minerva, who was leaning back against the desk, knees tucked up to her chest and staring at the wall before her. Her eyes were puffy and red, but for now it seemed the tears were at bay.

"Minerva, are you alright?" Poppy asked softly, and placed a hand on her friend's arm.

Minerva didn't speak, but continued to stare tiredly at the wall. Poppy looked worriedly up to Rolanda, who responded by lowering herself to the floor as well.

"Come on, Minerva," Rolanda spoke, her tone firm.

Minerva closed her eyes for a second, and when she opened them her gaze had finally turned to her two kneeling friends. And to Poppy's surprise, Minerva gave a weak smile.

"You've been speaking with Mr. Potter," she said, matter-of-factly. Her voice was quiet and hoarse.

"Yes," Poppy admitted. "He seemed rather worried about you."

Minerva smiled again, but this time her expression seemed to convey a sense of irony.

"He was quite upset with me. He thought I was… betraying Albus by clearing away his things," she said, and paused for a moment. "I just-" she suddenly inhaled quickly, as though she were about to cry, "-didn't know what else to do…"

And then Minerva did a peculiar thing – she started to laugh nervously. Yet with each breath she took, her laughing turned more into sobbing than anything else. Her inhalations were deep and strained, and a pained look overtook her features.

"Minerva-" Poppy began, but that was all it took for tears to begin spilling down Minerva's face. Poppy felt her insides crumple as she watched Minerva cry – her dear, strong friend, reduced to a sobbing wreck. Poppy did all she could think to do – she pulled herself right up to Minerva and wrapped her arms around her.

Poppy heard movement behind her, and in a moment Rolanda had brought herself around to the other side of Minerva and wrapped her arms around her too. Poppy felt Minerva clutch onto her arm tightly as she continued to sob, and saw that she was holding onto Rolanda too.

"It's alright," Poppy whispered, rubbing Minerva's back, and she was slightly stunned to find that her own voice was starting to waver. Minerva's sobs were so painful that tears began to form In Poppy's eyes, and it wasn't long before she was crying too – for Dumbledore and for her friend.

"Why are _you_ crying?" Exclaimed Rolanda in an attempt at mockery, but Poppy could see that Rolanda's eyes were also glistening with tears. Poppy laughed through her own sobs, and watched as Rolanda too couldn't help but burst into both tears and laughter. Minerva was glancing between both her friends, and it wasn't long before she too was infected by the laughter, despite tears still gushing from her eyes. And this time it wasn't the nervous laughter Poppy had heard before, but the kind of hearty laugh that warms your insides. Poppy wondered what a sight this must be – three grown women clutching each other on the floor, hysterically crying and laughing.

It was several minutes before the crying stopped, and several minutes more before the laughing stopped. Soon the three women were all leaning back against the desk, still holding each other, the only sound a quiet sniffle every now and then.

"Minerva?"

"Hm?"

"Were you and Dumbledore…" Poppy trailed off.

Minerva looked sideways at Poppy, and didn't speak for a moment as though she were considering her answer.

"We were involved…" Minerva finally answered. Apparently responding to the confused expression on Poppy's face, she smiled knowingly. "Romantically, intermittently, sporadically… It was a long and complicated affair. Very complicated, for many reasons…" A nostalgic look had fallen across Minerva's face, and she stared at the wall as if seeing something that Poppy or Rolanda never could.

Poppy didn't ask any more. Of course, she was curious as to how Minerva's relationship with the great Headmaster had remained hidden for so long – even from her closest friends – but for now, Minerva had said enough.

"You okay?" Rolanda asked, rubbing Minerva's arm.

Minerva broke from her reverie, and smiled. "Yes. Yes, I am. Thankyou," she said gratefully, and Poppy had a comforting feeling that she was telling the truth.

"Excellent! Now what say we nick down to the kitchens and pinch some of Hogwarts' finest wine?" Said Rolanda, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Some of Hogwarts' finest chocolate probably wouldn't go too astray, either…"

Minerva grinned, and let Poppy and Rolanda pull her up. Poppy opened the office door, and she turned to let the others through. As Minerva went to exit, however, she stopped and looked worriedly at Poppy. Poppy felt her stomach fall – hadn't Minerva gotten over the worst for now?

But Minerva's concern was quite unexpected and indeed entirely forgotten by Poppy -

"Poppy, what's that great lump on your forehead?"

**FIN**

* * *

That's all, folks! Once again, a big thank you to everyone who took the time to read this story. I'm so grateful to you all, and I really hope to bring you all some more lovely AD/MM fiction sometime soon...

Cheers!

whiteflowers


End file.
